“I heard it was all as good as over.”
“I think it is. But you can never be sure what some officer might get into his head, and suspect the penalties for desertion and other such things will be handed out for a while. We have been officially released. Got one for Boyd, and Dan got his. Ran right home, he did.”
“What are ye going to do?”
“No idea yet. Just meandering.”
“Weel, come meander up to my home.”
James dismounted, took his reins in hand, and walked beside Matthew. Abigail smiled faintly as the man fished for all the information he could on the area. The man might not recognize it but he was searching for a home. She recognized the signs for she had been doing the same. She had found hers.
Chapter Twenty
Abigail patted the dirt down carefully around the small rose bush she had planted. Maude had sent her two, called them beach roses, and swore they were hardy. Now she had one planted on each side of the front door. As she stood up and brushed the dirt off, she hoped the blooms would be the same color. She looked around trying to decide where to plant the lavender seeds Maude had also sent her.
She looked at the colorful red door on her home and smiled. It had taken two years but they finally had a home of their own a short walk down the road from the big MacEnroy house. In fact, they had put it in the spot where they had spent their wedding night. She always liked to pinch at Matthew by calling it the box. It was square and two stories high with a long front porch, a matching one running by the back door. It had none of the often elaborate decorative touches of the houses she had grown up seeing in Pennsylvania, but she loved it. With Robbie directing her when he could, she was even learning how to weave. She was no match for his artistic touch in the skill, but she had made a number of pretty carpets for her home and had even sold a few things, making enough so that they had the joy and comfort of indoor plumbing.
The sound of Matthew working on the fencing-in of the backyard made her think she should bestir herself to offer him a drink of either their brothers’ cider or some lemonade. She was just moving toward the back to speak to him when she spotted a wagon approaching. As it drew closer she saw that it was being driven by an older man. An older woman sat near him while a small boy sat securely between them. In the back of the wagon was a younger woman, three girls who had to be in their late teens, and another young boy. Then she saw the little package the woman held, recognized it as the one she had mailed out to Robert’s parents two years ago, and a chill went down her spine.
“Matthew!” she called as the wagon was pulling to a halt in front of the house and picked up Lily, her cat, because she knew the still-small Wags would follow Noah, who would follow Matthew when he answered her call. So would Jeremiah, she thought, and wished she had not called to her husband. She had the sudden strong urge to grab the boy and hide him away.
The older woman stepped down from the wagon seat and walked to the start of the path to the front door. “Mrs. MacEnroy?”
“Which one?” she asked, and cursed herself for a coward.
“Mrs. Abigail MacEnroy?”
“Yes.”
Noah skipped up to her, and his dog, not much bigger than the puppy he had been two years ago, began hopping around Abigail, trying to reach Lily who watched him calmly from her spot on her shoulders.
Walking up the path the woman stopped in front of her and Abigail noticed that Jeremiah’s eyes came from his grandmother. “You sent me this picture of Robert’s child. Did the baby survive?”
“Oh yes.” Forcing a stubborn reluctance aside, Abbie reached behind her and dragged Jeremiah to her side, pinning him in place with an arm around his thin shoulders.
The woman stared at Jeremiah and held her hand out behind her. “John.” The man with her stepped up quickly, grabbed her hand, and stood beside her. “This child is Jeremiah?”
“He is,” replied Abby. “Jeremiah Robert Collins. Jeremiah, this is your grandmother.”
Even as she looked down on the child, Abbie kept a watch on the others who began to climb out of the wagon and slowly walk closer. They were all studying Jeremiah, and the boy pressed even closer to Abigail.
“I had three sons,” the woman said quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears. “The war took them all. They all marched off to join the Union and not one marched back. The older boys left behind something. John, Jr. left his wife Miriam”—the woman with the children curtsied—“and his three children.” Two of the girls and one of the boys stood with Miriam. “And the other left a daughter and a son. Then came your letter and the picture and I could see that even Robert, my golden boy, had left a piece of himself behind. He died before he could see him, didn’t he?”
“I fear so,” Abigail replied as Matthew stepped up beside her to introduce himself. “But he knew a child was coming, if that is any comfort.”
“It is, or will be.” The woman knelt down and looked Jeremiah in the eye. “You do have the look of your papa, Jeremiah. Can you say hello?”
“’Lo. That is my brover, Noah,” he said and pointed at Noah who had edged up nearer to Abigail. “That is my da,” he said, pointing at Matthew and he grabbed hold of Abbie’s skirts. “She is my ma.”
“I see. You do have other family though. This is Miriam, your aunt. This is Beth and this is Alice,” she said, pulling the girls over to stand in front of her. She waved the others forward. This is Gavin.” She ruffled the hair of the one who had sat beside her. “This boy”—she tugged the one who had sat in the back of the wagon closer—“is Henry. They are all your cousins, as is Lillian here.”
“I have a lot of cousins.”
“Ye do, lad,” said Matthew.
“You have to make cousins for Noah.”
“I will tell my brothers to get busy on that.” He looked down at the ground to hide his grin when the boy nodded.
“Come in and have a drink,” invited Abigail. “We have cider and lemonade.”
“I will tend to your horses,” said Matthew, and started to walk toward the wagon.
Abigail led them all into the house and, with Miriam’s aid, gathered enough seats to have them all settled by the table. She gave each one a tall drink of their choice then poured a tankard of cider for Matthew. He obviously saw the slight tremor in her hands because he smiled softly and kissed her cheek then stood behind her when she took her seat. Then he brought over a plate of the cookies and muffins she had baked that morning and set them out with a few plates for people to use.
“I did write to say we would come but I suspect it will show up months from now. We have been trying to leave New York for quite a while. Then the land and house finally sold and we were on our way, and I prayed the whole way here that the child still lived.”
“He is a very healthy little fellow,” said Abigail. “Why did you sell everything to come here?”